Golden Vow
by Rainsaber
Summary: Prequel to Golden Borne. Before Smaug the Terrible destroyed a golden era for Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield found his treasure of treasures in another dwarf, but not the one he was betrothed to. Thorin/OC. Frerin/OC.


**Golden Vow**

**Summary:** Prequel to Golden Borne. Before Smaug the Terrible destroyed a golden era for Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield found his treasure of treasures in another dwarf, but not the one he was betrothed to. Thorin/OC. Frerin/OC.

**A/N:** This is inspired by a scene between Bilbo and Thorin in Golden Borne (which hasn't been entirely written yet) when Thorin confesses he had been promised to someone in the past before Erebor fell. Given Thorin's orientation in Golden Borne, it will be the same here (so it's a romantic male pairing, just to be clear). Some general notes on pronunciation of character names in this story. They're mostly Viking inspired names so a name like 'Yrsa' would be pronounced "Ear-sa" and 'Yrfrik' "Ear-frick," kind of similar to Erik, but more in lines with the dwarf sub-culture I wanted to create for this story.

Character Ages: I'm going with the information I got from the Encyclopedia of Arda and keeping Thorin at 24 and Frerin at 19 at the start of this story. With this in mind, for this story I'm going with 25 as the age of majority for dwarves. Dis isn't mentioned, but I'm going with her being the youngest at 14. I'm also tweaking ages for Balin and Dwalin, mostly to not have them be dwarflings at the fall of Erebor. So, Balin will be about 40 and Dwalin 31. Obviously it's an AU, but I try to stick as close to canon as possible.

Note for readers of Golden Borne: I am working on the next chapter diligently and I'm aiming to get it posted before I have to be back for my last semester of graduate school. The problem is I have most of the latter half of the story already written, so in essence I have a lot of catching up to those points in the story to do. It will be a long chaptered story, probably longer than anything I've written thus far in any fandom, so if you're still waiting patiently, strap yourselves in for a long haul. I have not given up on this story, and thought writing the prequel would stir some of the plot bunnies around again.

**Warnings:** This story starts with tragedy and ends in tragedy, so ultimately it's going to be a very sad story, but with some light along the way of course. Be aware that this story will include violence, especially towards the end, blood, and other disturbing instances, which will also be specified in the beginning of each chapter. Character deaths as well, so be prepared.

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I own nothing. I make no profit from this. All are sole property of the Tolkien estate, the original creator J.R.R. Tolkien, and Christopher Tolkien. With the exception of my original characters included here. _

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><p>Chapter One – Two Kingdoms, One Marriage<p>

The morning the caravan arrived at Dale was the morning that the weather had finally broken. While fog still clung to the earth, there was no longer any threats of downpouring rain or wind storms to delay their journey to the kingdom of Erebor. The sight of Dale and Erebor in the short distance was a welcome sight to all members of their small company with the exception of the lord and lady whose business lay within the dreaded mountain itself. While Yrfrik shared his sister's sentiments about the kingdom of dwarves they were entering, he also knew better than to think that one dwarf's voice from a land so far away would make any difference.

Their carriage lurched over rocks in the road, and Yrfrik bit back a hiss of pain as the wound in his side was jostled. The journey for them had not been a smooth one, and more than once he had vacated the carriage and his sister's company to walk instead. Though he tried to keep up, inevitably he would fall behind and Vakri would be tasked with riding them both back to the front of the company. If Yrfrik didn't know that Vakri was so bored, he would have limited those excursions to once a day, but as it was it gave the dear old dwarf something to pass the time with. Vakri was one of his father's trusted guardsmen, and a dear family friend. Yrfrik would have entrusted him with guarding his mother if his physical condition were any different. As it was, his mother was already well protected in his absence, but the worry still plagued him.

Yrsa looked at him, but Yrfrik silenced any responses on her tongue about his condition with one look. She sighed and turned away again, looking up at the looming mountain ahead of them. He spared his sister a gentler glance when he felt her mood take a downturn. One of the unfortunate circumstances of being a twin, he mused, though fortunate in the sense of it being a subconscious, was being so attuned to your sibling that at times foreign feelings and conditions could be mistaken for your own. He didn't mind it, if he was being truthful, but when it came to opening up to Yrsa about his own condition and feelings, he was stubborn and adamant about sparing her needless pain, which in turn fed her own stubbornness and ire, of which she was already steeped from head to toe as she sat opposite him in mourning dress for their father.

Not that he blamed her. He dearly wished he could join her, and spare them both the humiliation that was sure to follow both by their people and the people of Erebor. A betrothed in mourning? It would surely shame both royal families.

"You should have worn the veil, sister," he said, quietly.

Yrsa responded without sparing her brother a single glance. "Would it have helped me look more the part of a whore to be bought and sold?"

Yrfrik closed his eyes and sighed, grasping for patience. "Mother made it for your wedding day-"

"My enslavement. And what of you, dear brother? Are you so willing to see your twin strung up for all her people to see? To be paraded around like a rare jewel, only taken out under heavy guard and immediately placed back in her cage when she is done being played with?"

"I know Rorik was dear to you-"

"_Don't_," Yrsa warned, pointing a ringless finger at him.

Yrfrik sighed. "He's dead, Yrsa. He died a noble death, protecting our father when I could not. Do you blame me for that?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Then you must know the elders would have never allowed such a marriage-"

"They would have accepted him. For what he did. Had he lived. He defended our king, our house, our people-"

"You cannot be a widow."

"He was my other half," she shouted.

"And must you follow him into death and doom us both?"

"Now, I know your true intentions," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

"That is not what I meant and you know it. You cannot bind yourself to your own grief for the rest of time. That is a fate crueler than death, and I do not want to see you suffer. Damn my own fate, I've told you as much before. Nothing in that regard has changed. What I care about is you."

Yrsa scoffed and sat back in her seat. "You shouldn't be here. You should be home resting."

"Someone has to accompany you. And if I declined the journey because of sickness they would see the lack of formality as an insult. And all our father had worked towards would be for naught."

"Our people see this arranged marriage as an insult. Our father died two days ago and his only daughter's to be sold to the gold-hungry dwarves of Erebor. They refused to allow us our proper mourning-"

The carriage lurched again, and Yrfrik's wounded side banged against the sidewall. He hissed and bent over in pain. Yrsa reached out to him but he batted her hand away. "You have to stop this," she whispered to him. "I don't like you keeping things from me!"

"It is my pain to bear," Yrfrik said through gritted teeth and between pants. Though he was tempted to yell at his sister for shouting out the window for their company to go slower, his ire died with his pain once he was able to sit back up on his own. "Do you think I agree with any of this?"

"You are our king, brother! For all of two days, but if you do not lead us, our people will scatter. Our culture will fade to time and the kingdom of our forebears will be eradicated from history."

"Yrsa, what would you have me do? How else am I to protect our people, our legacy than through this small sacrifice?"

"I have no objection to a marriage—it's true! Were I to marry an orc, I would happily do it if it were a barter for the lives of our people, our family, our friends, but what I object to is an abandonment of who we are for the greater good of breathing. I will not be a weak Ereborean dwarrowdam who crafts in the security of her own prison!"

Yrfrik shook his head at his sister's stubbornness. "We do not share the same customs they do."

"So their greed must precede our mourning, _my _mourning twice earned and twice scorned?! The head of our house is dead. The other half of my soul was ripped from me. And you expect me to paint a smile on my face for these dwarves who know nothing of grief? That is no happiness. It is misery. You are sending me to my death, Yrfrik. You question my black clothes. You condemn my refusal to wear mothers wedding veil. And now you see my sadness as an undeserved wound. Would that my grief could cut you deeper than the injury you already bear!"

"Do you not think I wish our places had been traded," Yrfrik exploded. "A thousand times over?! Either Rorik or our father? I watched them both fall by my side. Every waking moment since then I have prayed for my own death-I do not grieve or mourn as you do because to grieve is to accept that they are dead and I cannot accept that they are dead because it is far too painful! And yes, your sadness wounds me more deeply than this accursed scar and that accursed orc who didn't have enough strength to dig it deeper and puncture my accursed lung! Had he, I am sure you'd he happier to know my death would not be clawing at my insides like a slow poison, because that is how our people know how to die. Quick and bloody. You cannot sit there and preach to me that you have never had a moment where you wished for the simpler and safer lives the dwarves of Erebor live, a life that now you will be privileged with-a life that our father so desperately wanted for us!"

"Not at the expense of our people-"

"Because of our people, Yrsa! Are you so ready to cast his wishes aside in your grief?"

"Enough," Yrsa whispered, closing her eyes. "You're worn and tired, brother. Our journey will soon be at an end."

Yrfrik wiped the sweat from his brow and stared out the window at the mountain drawing ever closer to them. "You may not believe me, sister, but no matter how deeply you wound me, I will always love you. I will not leave you. Not ever."

Yrsa looked at him, confused. "Don't feed me foolish lies."

"It is no lie, nor jest. I will have mother sent for when the roads are safe again. I did not intend to leave you here like a hostage. Erebor will be our new home. I will see this treaty through and King Thror's promises fulfilled, as a king of Vrodin's wanderers should."

Once Yrsa's eyes dawned with realization, she began to slowly shake her head. "Our people cannot survive here. All they know is the wild."

"And how do you expect them to continue our way of life several hundred miles away from the furthest reaches of Erebor's kingdom? These were the terms of the treaty, of your marriage to Thorin, that our people will be made part of the kingdom of Erebor in all manner of protection and support. With the hills overrun as they are, if our people continue to defend it they will disappear within a fortnight. That is a certainty."

"We will lose who we are-_that_ is certainty!"

"You ask me to be the leader our people need. I cannot expect to be a leader in all but dark times. This must be done for our survival, surely you see that?"

His sister pulled up her mourning wrap over her unbraided hair. "We are here. Walk straight and show no weakness. Once their formalities are over I will find you a healer."

Before he could reply, she opened the door and stepped down from the carriage on her own. He took a deep breath, praying Mahal for patience, and followed her, as best he could without aggravating his side. Before them the gates of Erebor were open. Imposing guards lined the entrance hall, but Yrfrik held his head tall, as a king should. His sister followed him only a couple of steps behind. Guards from their own entourage followed in silence, but vigilant and ready to bear arms at a single word or sign from Yrfrik. Such power used to awe him as a dwarfling, but now that it was within his own control, he feared it. Yes, it protected them, but now that he was a king, he also had the unintended power to start a war, if he so chose.

When they reached the hall of the king, Yrfrik stopped short. The hall itself was every bit the magnificent beauty he had been told from stories. But, though Yrfrik didn't let it show, the sight of walking down such a long distance without showing any weakness worried him. He spared his sister a glance, and he felt the support strengthening his steps once he started. To his dismay, he only saw two dwarves in the distance, one sitting, and one to the left of the throne. Was the king's grandson not to see the proceedings of his own marriage? Yrfrik prayed that Yrsa's temper would stay in check.

Once he reached the bottom step that led up to the throne he stopped, as was tradition, and bowed. There he waited for the king to address him. He hoped the king would not have him wait too long, but when his ears picked up on hurried footsteps, he got his answer about the absent prince. He was sorely tempted to roll his eyes, but he was more concerned about not collapsing from pain.

"Late," King Thror droned.

"Forgive me, grandfather," Thorin whispered.

"You've made these poor dwarves wait. Such behavior is not to be tolerated of an expected king. But you are forgiven. Rise, lord of Yrmod's folk. And please forgive my wayward grandson."

Yrfrik sighed in relief and straightened slowly, gritting his teeth and raising his eyes with a steadiness he didn't feel. No dwarf standing in front of him gave him any indication of the weakness he felt, and that comforted him. King Thror looked on him with a kind but distant regard. Thrain looked on with patient disdain. And when Thorin turned his eyes to Yrfrik and their company, and the look he gave Yrfrik sent a spike of intense fear into his heart. Thorin blinked, and for a moment all within the hall froze as the prince swayed and gasped, catching himself on the arm of the king's throne. The king's attention snapped to his grandson, and Lord Thrain quickly crossed to his son's side to support him.

"Thorin," his father whispered to him.

As Thorin pulled himself back together, Yrfrik couldn't help but act on a compulsion to step forward. "Are you well, my lord?"

Thror turned to Thrain and shared a knowing look with something of a smug smile. "Tis the sight, is it not?"

"Yes," was all Thorin seemed capable of saying.

Yrsa reached out slowly and squeezed Yrfrik's hand and asked with her eyes, choosing to stay silent and cede control of the room to him. "What is this sight, my lords," Yrfrik asked, politely. "We have no tales of such a thing among our people."

"Mahal blessed Durin's folk with the sight to distinguish fated ones," the king explained with a smile. "The vision goes gray in the presence of the second half to a dwarf's heart, as a sign of Mahal's blessing. This match is indeed a blessed one it would seem."

One would think the lord Thorin would be happy or relieved upon receiving such a sign, but he seemed anything but to Yrfrik. Thorin looked confused, if a little angry, and decidedly uncomfortable. Yrfrik tried not to give in to his own rising ire, for his sister's sake, but if these formalities were to descend into defending his sister's honor, he would do so in a heartbeat and damn the consequences of a treaty with such a kingdom. The silence that stretched on between both parties grew thick, so thick that guards from both parties shifted uncomfortably.

"Perhaps we might begin again, with proper introductions this time," King Thror suggested.

Thorin gently shrugged his father's attentions off, and something inside Yrfrik stretched in an awful way, but he swallowed it and spoke as he was taught. "Greetings to the dwarven Lords of the great kingdom of Erebor. I am Yrfrik Yewhood, son of the late Yrmod the Farsighted, of the people of Vrodin the Old. This is my sister, betrothed to prince Thorin under the contract made in my father's name and for the unity of our two kingdoms. I present my sister, the lady Yrsa, for your final approval."

Yrsa stepped forward, kept her head high, but her eyes trained to the ground, refusing to look Thorin or the king in the eye. And to Yrfrik's dismay, she did not drop her mourning veil. Yrfrik was tempted to step up behind her and yank it down, but he also knew she would fight him on it, so he left it alone. If the king or his family took it as an insult, they didn't let it show.

"Greetings to you and your people, lord Yrfrik," the king replied. "We offer our condolences for the recent loss of your father. Yrmod was a clever and skilled dwarf."

Yrfrik inclined his head. "They are greatly appreciated, my lord."

"You understand that by consenting to this marriage, and accepting our protection, you are in all but declaring war on the heathens of Oddi, who you also bartered an alliance with against the orcs of the north?"

Yrfrik lifted his head. "I do. My father trusted Oddi to keep his word on the battlefield, and though he did I have not forgotten the crimes he committed against my mother's kin, cousins to you as well, my lord. My father made that pact for our survival," Yrfrik replied. "Nothing more. Though my father was a true and loyal dwarf of his word and promises, in that one respect I regret that I cannot be my father's son and continue such an alliance."

"As I had hoped you would answer, young lord."

"King," Yrsa dared to say.

Yrfrik's heart leapt up into his throat and he stared at his sister's back.

"Pardon, my lady," Thrain replied.

"He is our king, my lords of Erebor," she said, lifting her head and with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "Lord Yrfrik must be addressed by his proper title, as was given to him two days past on our father's untimely death."

"Apologies, my lady," Thrain said with a small incline of his head.

The king however, smiled, somehow pleased with Yrsa's lack of decorum. "The lady concedes to this union?"

"She does," Yrfrik answered quickly, stepping up beside her.

"And what says the lady," Thorin said, startling everyone in the chamber with his low voice.

Yrfrik turned to Yrsa. She gave him a cool look with a raised brow.

"I would hear her answer, myself." Thorin descended the stairs, eyes switching between both siblings before resting on Yrsa. "My lady?"

Yrsa narrowed her eyes at Thorin. "My lord."

"What say you to all of this? Do you agree with the terms laid out before us regarding our… marriage?"

"No," Yrsa replied after a moment's consideration. "I am afraid I do not agree."

Yrfrik closed his eyes in defeat.

"You do not agree to this union?"

"You mistake me, my lord. I agree to our marriage, but I disagree with the terms that dictate it."

Thorin's eyebrows raised, having not expected such an answer. "What would you have differently?"

"Time to grieve our father properly and in the fashion of our people. A fortnight before we are to be wed."

"I hold no objection to that," Thorin said turning to his father and grandfather.

"That will be honored," King Thror declared.

"Was there anything else," Thorin asked of Yrsa.

"I would ask that a formal escort be sent to retrieve our mother. It is not out of doubt of the strength of my people that I ask this, but out of sheer number."

"No offense is meant, my lady, but I would expect to hear such a request from your king."

Yrfrik turned his attention to Thorin, and tried to match a sliver of the royal majesty he emitted. "Such a request can hardly be deemed inappropriate for a lady, my lord, when it concerns another lady most dear to both of us. And if the truth of the matter is to be told, when it comes to seniority among our people, I must cede some power to my beloved sister, for she is my elder by six minutes."

Thorin was shocked. "You are twins?"

"I had been told the sister was old enough, but my king, surely the son is younger and their ages must be false," Thrain said to King Thror. "He's not fully-grown into his beard!"

Yrsa tensed at his side and a dark gleam passed through her eyes. Before anyone could say anything further, Yrfrik spoke up, swallowing the insult to salvage something of his father's treaty. "Surely, my lord, you have heard of the blight upon my father's people and our line?"

"A nearly hairless folk, are you not," Thror asked, politely and pointedly directed towards his son.

To future king's credit, he looked abashed and frowned, averting his eyes at the somewhat unintended insult.

Yrfrik inclined his head. "It may seem foreign to those descended from Durin the deathless, and oft have we been unjustly compared to the like of men or _elves_, but I would remind my lords that elves do not sport beards at all. And nor do they respect the tradition of our people. Though it grows slowly over the course of decades, it is still a tradition both the children of Erebor and of Vrodin's share. My sister and I are not children. We've both reached our majority months ago."

"You are older than my son it would seem, then," Thrain said with an air.

Then it was Yrfrik's turn to be shocked. "Older?" He looked again at prince Thorin still before him and saw what he had assumed must be a dwarf of at least fifty.

"By some few months," king Thror interjected. "I believe your father once told me he had been blessed with two children in the spring. Thorin's majority is to be reached at the end of the summer."

"It would seem my sister's proposition to delay the marriage for a short while was prudent."

The King smiled down at them. "So it would seem. Does the lovely lady agree to the terms laid out by your father and here today?"

Yrfrik turned to Yrsa, not expecting a confirmation or denial of his hopes, but his fears. When she reached up and lowered her mourning veil, revealing her dark chocolate locks, free of any familial braids or ties, Yrfrik felt nothing but pride. His sister looked every bit the kind of majesty a future queen should.

"If lord Thorin approves," Yrsa said. "I can find nothing disagreeable to this union."

For a long moment, Thorin was silent, and more than once Thorin's eyes turned to Yrfrik, searching for something, which confused him, but the moment the prince stepped forward to braid a green bead into his sister's hair behind her left ear, all doubts vanished.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Will try to update soon, but it may take a while with my last semester of graduate school, and if that winds up being the case, please be patient. Hope you liked it!<strong>


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